Poking The Bear
by Gabby D
Summary: Jesus flirts. A lot. And one day Daryl ends up doing something about it. [SLASH]


Jesus flirts. A lot. With Daryl, that is.

He flirts and flirts shamelessly whenever they're alone, and whenever they're not he seems to get his kick out of speaking only through innuendos with the most innocent face and voice, smiling at Daryl as the others are none the wiser. Always touching Daryl's arm or shoulder ever so lightly whenever the opportunity rises, giving him that _look._

Utterly shameless, that one.

Jesus seems to have the most fun based on just how riled up he manages to get Daryl, grinning openly at his red face and just so damn pleased with himself that the hunter can't help but feel fond.

Usually Daryl would've ignored him, told him to knock it off or that he wasn't interested. He knows it isn't just a joke to the other, like he had suspected when it first started to happen. He knows that now. Really, Daryl should just put an end to it. Jesus would respect him and butt off. But…

But somehow, between all that teasing, Jesus got to him.

After all they've gone together, Daryl trusts the guy with his life. Not just his, really, but his family's too— hell, Jesus _is_ family. Earned it on his own merit. He's a lot stronger than he looks, a survivor through and through, and those big blue eyes definitely didn't hurt either.

The hunter let him in.

And now, after so long on his own, the heated looks wake up something inside of him, the light touches leave a scorching trail that taunt Daryl even hours after. He _wants_ him. A need so deep he can feel it in his bones.

They're in the middle of carrying some boxes of supplies into a storage room when Jesus mentions, almost off-handedly though the look in his eyes are anything but, just how far away it was from where everyone else is.

"Nobody comes here, you know. I guess there's nothing for them to see." When he walks past Daryl, their shoulders brush ever so casually as he continues to talk. "I find it very… private."

It's not the first time he propositioned to him, and it was barely ever subtle, but it's been a long day working besides the other; full of teasing words and knowing smiles that left Daryl too worked-up to think straight and a touch too red on the face.

It's clear that Jesus isn't waiting anything from him, probably thinks he'll just shrug it off like he always does.

Except the moment they're inside with no boxes in hands, Daryl ends up pinning Jesus to the nearest wall, too frustrated with their little game, kissing him deeply and thoroughly and hearing the other moan a _"fuck yeah"_ against his lips like a desperate man which only makes Daryl kiss him even harder.

It's been far, far too long since the last time he got laid.

It had been months before the world ended, in the dark alley of some gay bar he used to go whenever the urge was too distracting and couldn't be thrown off by hunting nor just by the shame alone. Daryl barely even remembers what the guy looked like. It had been quick and meaningless, just the way he hated the most, and it made the need go away.

He hadn't really thought about sex since then, managed well enough on his own to even bother, but with Jesus all up on his face tempting him? Daryl is no saint, and everyone has their breaking point.

And Jesus, apparently, is his.

When he pulls away it takes Jesus a second or two to realize what had happened and that it was indeed real, and he seems so surprised that Daryl can't stop himself from feeling smug. He'd finally gotten the prick speechless.

"Didn't expect me to make the first move?"

That breaks the spell, an enticing smile taking the place of the surprise on the other's face.

"Oh, quite the opposite." Jesus switches their positions, pinning Daryl now instead of being pinned, and the hunter can feel his grin as he nibbles on his ear. "I was counting on it. Quite rude of you to leave me waiting."

 _Cheeky asshole._

They kiss again, and this time Jesus has no problem deepening the kiss himself. He's got Daryl in his hold, exactly where he wants him to be, and Daryl doesn't think he would've been able to move even if he wanted to. He lets his touches wonder, one hand going to the scout's neck as the other adventures under his shirt, exploring playfully and mapping every piece of smooth skin as if to make sure he never forget it. And he won't, Daryl's sure of that. Jesus is ruining him for anyone else.

A kiss or two later and Jesus has Daryl groaning into his mouth as he grabs the redneck by the ass, grinding slowly against him and driving him nuts. He moves to suck on Daryl's neck instead, kissing and biting as they move together, desperate for more, each determined roll eliciting more and more moans as jeans meet jeans, clothed hard-ons rubbing against each other.

"Christ, the mouth on you..."

His comment makes Jesus grin, nibbling on the same spot under his ear again. "Oh, you like it?" the scout teases as he gets yet another groan, together with a weak _'yes, fuck'_ for an answer. "Do you want to see what else it can do?"

Tempting, real tempting.

Daryl can imagine it: the other on his knees, the heat of Jesus' mouth around his cock as he holds onto his soft long hair… the image alone being too much for him to process for a second. It'd be easy to say yes and let the other go down on him, to get lost in it in the pleasure and take it all in.

But. That's not all he wants to do.

"Got a better idea," Daryl tells him, voice thick with desire, and Jesus doesn't fight him as he changes their position and sink on his knee instead, barely taking seconds in his quest to open Jesus' pants and pull his cock out, almost drooling at the sight.

He had missed this.

He missed the feeling of having his mouth full, his knees against the hard ground and hands running through his hair, pulling lightly whenever he sucks it just right. The feeling of total control, of making someone lose it completely with just his mouth and his mouth alone, hearing the moans and knowing that was all on him. And god, the sounds Jesus makes as he takes it all in… Daryl feels so stupid for denying it for so long, they could've been doing it for months now.

"Yeah, just like that," Jesus' voice is barely more than a whisper as he just leans onto the wall, letting him have all the work— nails scratching Daryl's scalp as he holds him by the hair and shoulder. Keeping him anchored. "Fuck, Daryl, you're so good at this— _yeah_. So good."

Daryl bobs his head slowly, moaning at the praise and enjoying every second; wanting to make the most of it, wanting Jesus desperate and begging and _weak._ With one hand he grabs Jesus' ass, pulling him in at the same time he goes down on his cock, thrusting as he lets the head of it slide against the back of his throat— he chokes a little, it's been far too long since the last time, but Daryl doesn't let that stop him as he keeps sucking— and his other hand goes down to his own pants, freeing his own cock and finally getting some relief himself.

"Oh god," Jesus moans loudly when Daryl applies just the slightest hint of teeth and tongue to make his legs shake, and the hunter wonders if he's going to come already.

Daryl wonders if he'll come down his throat.

He wants that, fuck Daryl wants that more than anything. What will Jesus taste like? He speeds things up, letting go of his handful of ass to try and play with his balls instead, but Jesus gently pulls him up instead, interrupting him, and Daryl lets go of his cock with an indecent pop and a sigh.

"Fuck, you have no idea how hot you look right now." As if to emphasize, Jesus touches Daryl's reddened lips with his fingertips, and the hunter bites them lightly before being pulled for a brief kiss. "Don't want to stop now, we still have time."

"What, ya don't wanna come in my throat?"

Daryl can feel the exact moment Jesus shivers at his words, giving a shallow thrust against his thigh. " _Shit_. I do." Jesus kisses his jaw and cheek, almost sweetly. "I really do, trust me," he tells him breathlessly, "but for now I'd rather have you here. Where I can kiss you. Been waiting to do this to you for a long time now."

"Yeah?"

He swallows the moan that tries to escape when the other grabs his erection, joining both of their cocks together into his hands. After so long on his own, every little touch is breathtaking, his skin oversensitive— Daryl can feel Jesus' wet cock against his own, the heat of his hands… They really won't last long. He pulls Jesus for another kiss, nibbling on his lower lips and groaning into his mouth as they move together.

"Yeah," Jesus says between kisses. "You have no idea, I— I wanted you from day one."

Daryl stares at him for a second, before looking down shyly. His hands join Jesus', moving together as saliva and pre-come slick the way, and soon they find a rhythm together. The hunter has to bite his own lips before stealing another kiss from the other, losing himself to it.

"Got me now," Daryl tells him, and soon enough Jesus is coming between them with one last groan, spilling all over their hands and his shirt and making a mess as he collapses against the wall with shaky legs.

He looks at Daryl as if he's given him all the answers in the universe, just now.

There's barely a second to take it all in before Paul lazily grabs Daryl's cock again with his dirty hand, pumping it up and down as he leaves a trail of kisses on his neck and collarbone. He's whispering incentives too, telling Daryl how good he's been, how his mouth felt and how much better he is than he dreamed of. When Daryl comes, it's biting down on Jesus' shoulder with a feral need to _mark,_ to see proof of himself on the other, though that's barely necessary as Jesus looks exactly how Daryl feels: fucked out.

They kiss leisurely, hands caressing gently each other's sides and arms, enjoying every last second of that post-orgasm bliss before they pull away and start tucking themselves in and cleaning up in silence, sharing small pecks as they do so.

And just like that, it's over.

They move on, each going to finish their own works and chores, and Daryl does his best to act like nothing happened.

He avoids looking at Jesus— avoids him at all, whenever he can, in front of the others. He knows damn well how those things work, though he's never done it with someone who's not a stranger before. He knows how it's supposed to go; Daryl remembers going to bars and alleys whenever Pa and Merle wouldn't notice him missing, he remembers keeping his head down after to avoid suspicion, as if one look at his face and they'd know what he's done and what he is.

But nobody notices anything, and as the week passes, Daryl slowly starts to notice he'd been wrong when he assumed it'd be an one-time thing between the two. He thought it'd fix the craving and he'd go on as normal.

Turns out, Jesus is like a drug. One dose only leaves you wanting for more.

And so when their eyes meet again and Daryl sees the same heated look that got the two in trouble in the first place, it doesn't take long before they find themselves in a small storage room somewhere making out like teenagers with hands down each other's pants. They don't trade a lot of words, though Jesus always makes sure to whisper curses and comments over every touch— " _your hands, god, so strong,"_ — knowing how just worked up it got Daryl. Their touches just as overpowering as before, leaving the two breathless at the end.

And soon it becomes a game for them to go and find places to have sex in.

Stealing each other away from chores, finding the most vague of excuses to need help or to go on runs together only to get on each other's faces the second they're alone. There's no warning, nothing to tell Daryl when the next time will be or where, until there's a hand getting rid of his belt and a mouth against his.

Daryl finally gets to blow him again, against a random trailer as people farm not far from there, adding a thrill to it that the hunter never thought he'd find hot, taking him deep and deep until Jesus is coming down his throat with a muffled groan. And god, to taste him was just as rewarding as Daryl thought it'd be. Jesus repays the favor the next very day as they go to check the snares together, messing his pants where his knees meet dirt as he goes down on Daryl, taking his sweet time to tease him and kiss the shaft.

It's perfect.

They learn how to make each other tick, how to destroy them in seconds and how to tease it for a lifetime. Daryl knows how to twist his fingers inside Jesus to make him see stars, and Jesus learns how Daryl likes to feel a hint of roughness. They know the sounds they make, what each moan means. They know each other thoroughly and completely, in the most intimate of ways— ways nobody else has ever known the hunter.

It translates to their day-to-day routine, too, as the more they learn each other's body language, the more they're paired up in runs together, the more time they spend together and thus the more they get into each other's pants. A cycle that only feeds itself more and more. Now the looks are shared, the smiles reciprocated, they don't rile Daryl up as much as make him keen.

And Daryl's starting to fear when the other shoe will drop. He keeps waiting for Jesus to get bored of him, to move on and find someone else, someone _better,_ and yet that never happens.

Instead Jesus bends him over and make him forget what ever worried him to begin with. One by one all the reservations are thrown aside, walls they never even knew they put up falling down like dominoes at each touch and each kiss they share.

The first time they have sex in a bed is inside Jesus' trailer, the day they finally get some free time for themselves with no runs or work to do, no need to find excuses to run off together. It's slow and teasing, now that they can afford it, and they smile and laugh the entire time as Jesus rides him into oblivion— hands on Daryl's thighs, moving up and down on his own pace, circling his hips just to make the hunter groan without being able to do anything to change it other than call him a tease and chuckle breathlessly. And Daryl watches, fascinated, as Jesus fucks himself on him, paying attention to every little reaction and twitch, enjoying the intimate show the other is giving him.

It's also the first time Daryl calls him _Paul_ — voice hoarse with pleasure as he comes, a scream he can barely hold back as the other takes him in deep with one last thrust,— and the first time he stays after, too, if only because the scout tired him out. Or that's what he tells himself.

And so things slowly change before any of them notice.

People start to notice— paying attention to the intimacy where before there was none, to the flimsy excuses, to the secret smiles and knowing looks, as if there's an entire world only the two are aware of,— yet the idea isn't so scary anymore to Daryl.

At some point it stops being about sex; now their make-out sessions don't always end in fucking and sometimes they kiss just to kiss each other, just because they _want_ to, going as far as trading kisses and stealing away pecks when no one else is looking simply because they can. Daryl starts showing up in the trailer just for the company— to share a drink, to play cards or even just to sit in silence enjoying each other's presence as they read,— and before he knows it, sharing a bed together at night is not so uncommon for them after a long tiring day of hard work.

But they never discuss any of it.

Until they do.

Paul is the one to bring it up, as it usually went with the two of them. It's their last night together before a big run, Rick warned them it would take a couple of weeks or so and it might be dangerous, and they're enjoying it the most they can; heated kisses that leave their mouths red, trying to convey with wandering hands and with each touch the message of _come back, please come back safe._

And their kisses reply _I will, I promise I will try._

Daryl's on his back, open and in full display, pushing back against the teasing fingers inside of him as Paul moves and scissors them, driving him mad with pleasure and _need._ A need to touch, to be touched, to have a mouth on his and to feel so completely full that the soreness will still be there even days after— not letting him forget of the moment he gave up all of his pride, ignored the voice in his head calling him a bitch, and begged Paul to fuck him. Not letting him forget how it felt to be filled up.

Not letting him forget _Paul._

He bites his finger to keep quiet when instead the other just rubs against his prostate again, making Daryl archhis back in pleasure and lose himself for a few seconds. It's so good and fuck, he loves it, but he'd love it even more if Paul would just _hurry the fuck up, goddammit,_ and fucked him already.

But Paul just chuckles and bends his fingers again. "Relax, we have all night, old man. No reason we can't _enjoy_ it."

Daryl was about to protest, an indignant curse already on the back of his tongue as he considered simply turning the scout over and riding him instead, but Paul takes his mouth on his before he can say anything and Daryl moans into his mouth as they kiss. He rocks against Paul's fingers again, losing his breath as time after time Paul hits the spot inside of him that sets fire to his bones, making him see stars. Shit, fuck, he's going to come.

 _He's going to—_

Paul lets go of him, retrieving his fingers and moving away slightly to look at Daryl, a look of hunger in his face as the hunter whines and feels the loss.

The disappointment quickly turns into something else as Daryl sees him slick himself up. He doesn't enter him at first, the little shit, instead he takes advantage of Daryl's desperation and oversensitivity, rubbing his cock against the crack of his ass and giving a few shallow thrusts that tease but never breaches in, just a promise for something more, something _bigger_.

Christ, he can feel himself clenching at the thought.

"Just fuck me already, damn it," Daryl curses at him, ears red as he gives the other exactly what he wants, "or I'll just fuck myself!"

Paul smiles, stealing a peck from the hunter. "I love it when you get bossy."

And before he can get offended at it, Paul enters him with one single shove, surprising Daryl and making him scream in pleasure, feeling so fucking overwhelmed and full and _good_. He'd feel like this the whole day if he could; Paul seated deep inside of him as they share lazy kisses, holding each other as if the outside world didn't exist anymore for the two of them.

"Shit, you feel so good, Daryl," Paul tells him with a moan, petting Daryl's hair as he waits. "You're so good, how are you this perfect?"

Daryl's too busy groaning at the feelingto answer, the words making him feel way more flustered than they should even now that he's used to them, and he gasps loudly as Paul moves ever the slightly inside of him, adjusting himself there. He almosts asks to be fucked in all fours, rough and fast like Paul knows he likes, but no.

He wants to see it, see him. He wants to watch as Paul raws him, watch his cock disappear inside of Daryl with each thrust and _feel it_ there.

Daryl opens his eyes— _when did he close them?_ — and the sight that greets him almost makes him come already with his dick untouched: Paul's flustered red and breathing hard, his long hair all over the place and his eyes as they meet Daryl's make him feel both worshipped and like prey. And with just one nod for confirmation the scout starts to move, groaning at the tightness around his cock and fucking Daryl hard and deep, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room.

"There!" Daryl throws his head back as he feels his whole body shake in pleasure."Yeah, right there— _fuck, Paul_ — just like that."

They kiss but it doesn't feel like enough, bodies moving together as one; desperate for release and yet wanting the moment to last forever, not quite ready to let each other go; clinging to it like their lives depended on it. Daryl's sure Paul's back will have marks later but fuck it, so will his hips. It'll be a reminder later when they're far away from each other of what they can do, an extra incentive to come home safe.

 _Like they belong to each other._

But they don't, and it almost hurts to remember that when Paul is kissing him so urgent, like he means the world to him when Daryl knows he doesn't. It's just sex, plain and simple, and that's all it'll ever be. But Paul is still here and keeps coming back, he hasn't walked out on him yet, so it's enough. It has to be.

The kiss is broken with a moan Daryl's not sure who let out, and it's Paul's voice in his ear whispering how good he is and how it feels that takes him away from the melancholic thoughts, keeping him grounded in the present and in his voice. Daryl doesn't think twice before getting a handful of ass, pulling Paul even deeper inside of him as he bites the scout's lower lips, determined.

" _Harder,"_ he growls.

 _Make me forget everything else,_ he leaves unsaid.

And Paul doesn't disappoint, taking his hands away from Daryl's hips to grab his thigh and leg instead, hauling him closer and opening him ever more as he dives in with each thrust more forceful than the last, his mouth on the hunter's neck leaving furious kisses behind. Daryl's mind go blank as he gasps for air, pleasure numbing everything else and eyes rolling back.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Paul comes first, and Daryl feels it before it happen, already too familiar with the other's tells— the falter of his hips, the shake in his breathing, the small inaudible grunts— and soon enough he's being filled up with Paul's come with his name being shouted on his ear, and fuck if the hot and thickness of it together with the need in his voice didn't do it for Daryl; only a few pumps on his own dick had him cursing and splattering messily all over his own hand.

It takes a second for them to wind down, Paul on top of him as they kiss, enjoying every last bit of their post-orgasmic bliss before he pulls out. Daryl almost regrets the loss; he feels _empty_ now without it, and he can already tell his ass be sore the next day just like he wished for, reminding every second that this is real.

Paul falls exhausted next to him with a sigh, breathing hard and looking so completely irresistible that it takes Daryl a second to notice he even spoke, too busy considering the chances of being able to roll on top of him and have another go at it.

Except he did speak, even though it was so fast it was less of a sentence and more of a mushed word. And when he manages to make sense of it, the implication hits him like a train.

" _Do you want to move in?"_

Daryl freezes, not knowing what to do or how to even acknowledge the question, mind blank and heart going wild inside his chest. Paul looks just as terrified as he feels, as if he never meant to say anything and it had just burst out without his permission, but he continues anyway.

"Like. Make it official. Make _us_ official, I mean, for real," Paul babbles nervously, tucking his messy hair behind his ear.

He doesn't know what to think, feeling far far too confused to even try and rationalize it. Of course Paul chose right after he's been fucked stupid to finally communicate. Of fuckin' course. Daryl tries to form any coherent thought, but it's mostly just a lot of _what_ and _the fuck._

Which. _What._

"Like… boyfriends?" he asks uncertain. Was he sucked into a parallel universe where this conversation makes any sense?

Paul nods, as if that explained fucking anything. "Yeah; boyfriends, partners, lovers, whatever you want to call it," he agrees. "I mean, isn't that basically what we are already? Kind of?"

Daryl's first instinct is to say no; to laugh at the idea of him having a boyfriend, to get mad. He's not Aaron, he's no Eric. That's not something he can have, it's not something for someone like him— _raised_ like him. Daryl's accepted long ago that all he can have is meaningless one night stands that leave him feeling dirty and ashamed the next day. But he stops for a second and thinks about it, really thinks about it.

Because.

That's not what he has with Paul.

Even that first time together, when he was frustrated and the other had been in his face teasing and riling him up. It hadn't been empty, just yet another nameless fuck. It hadn't been a quickie in a dark alley, in a bathroom stall, in a car with a stranger who he'd never see again. It didn't feel filthy, it didn't feel _shameful._

And then, what? They continued with it, whatever _it_ was. Time after time, they kept going back to each other, like they could feel their bodies calling for each other. It felt natural to do it. And it evolved, too, into something else. Something intimate. Daryl remembers the nights they spent together just sleeping near each other, too tired to do anything else yet still needing to be close to one another. He remembers hearing the other talking about his old life and telling him about his in exchange, holding each other in the dark as they shared the untold. He remembers the kisses and the touches, he remembers the smell of Paul's hair and how his hand fit perfectly on his. Daryl remembers being outside those walls with him and trusting him fully; how they didn't even need words to know what to do next and what to expect from each other, moving together in perfect synchrony.

He remembers looking into Paul's eyes, kissing him and thinking _shit, I could do this for the rest of my life._

Oh.

"Huh. Shit, we are."

Paul sighed relieved, as if he'd been holding his breath for Daryl's response this whole time. He nods and, somehow, the hunter doesn't doubt he feels just as overwhelmed as Daryl himself. "Yeah."

"When—- I mean, since when— when did that happen?"

"I told you, Daryl," Paul says, nothing if not sincere, "I wanted you from the start. Since day one."

"I thought…"he starts, but let's it trails off, unsure of how to finish it. _I thought that you just wanted me for sex, I thought we were using each other and that was all I could ever have, so I did my best to not make you regret it. I thought I was just convenient._ "Don't matter now."

It's a bit too much, so long believing he'd never have something like this only to one day realize he already has it.

"So… is that a yes? You'll move in with me?"

Daryl thinks about it for a second. He can jump out, this is his chance if he wants to. He can go back to how it was. But fuck, Daryl can barely even remember how it was before Paul, he doesn't think he'd be able to anymore. The little fucker ruined him for good.

Got him hooked without even noticing it.

"Yeah," Daryl says, a bit breathless himself, "yeah, it's a yes. Fuck, that means we gotta tell the group, how do we even... Rick's gonna tease me something awful I can see it already, aw man."

 _Glenn would too, if he were here._ Daryl archives that thought for later, maybe for when it doesn't hurt as much.

"Oh, I think they figured it out already," Paul tells him with that twinkle in his eyes that meant he's trying to hide his amusement and failing, "I think I got their versions of shovel talks and everything. By the way, thanks for not informing me Carol is terrifying. Had to find that out myself. I feel like—"

Daryl pulls him to him, interrupting whatever it is that he was going to say. They laugh between kisses, as _boyfriends_ , and christ Daryl knew that one would be trouble from the moment they met.

But he couldn't be more glad he gave in.


End file.
